


Croce e delizia, delizia al cor

by Ginny_Potter



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus' thoughts, Angst, Dark-ish, It's mostly Dumbledore's thoughts, M/M, POV Second Person, Spoilers, Spoilers COG, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 05:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16738042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginny_Potter/pseuds/Ginny_Potter
Summary: [SPOILERS FOR CRIMES OF GRINDELWALD]Albus' thoughts when Travers, Theseus and the other Aurors storm in during his Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson.





	Croce e delizia, delizia al cor

**Author's Note:**

> Ops, I did it again.  
> I cannot stop fangirling over these two.  
> THIS FANFICTION CONTAINS SPOILERS.  
> Just a brief note on the title: "croce e delizia, delizia al cor" is a verse from the duet "Un dì, felice, eterea" from Giuseppe Verdi's Traviata. It means "torture and delight, delight to the heart". I am such a opera nerd. In Italy the expression "croce e delizia", "torture and delight", is commonly used to describe something that provokes conflicting feelings, something that is good and bad at the same time for oneself. I thought it was particularly fitting for Dumbledore's feelings for Grindelwald.  
> I really hope you will enjoy it. As usual: I'm not a native speaker, please tell me if you spot mistakes.  
> Lots of love.

You never forgot what it means.

You never forgot what it means to be seventeen, maybe that’s why your students admire you so much, maybe that’s why McClaggan spoke up to Travers, almost moving you to tears.

_He’s the best teacher we’ve got._

Yes. You are indeed a good teacher.

(Maybe not to yourself.)

You remember what it means to be seventeen, maybe that’s the reason. Yes, that must be the reason.

You remembered what it meant even before Travers casted his spell and the smoky shapes of you and Gellert appeared before your eyes, like ghosts from another life. They were, in a sense. They could never be, in another. There is something soft inside of you that wishes to smile as your limpid eyes observe the severe expression of your ghost-like teenage self. You can feel the shocked gazes of the other Aurors on the back of your head, it’s a tingling, like the feeble touch of fingertips. You can perceive them becoming wary, even taken aback, as they realise what these two apparently ordinary boys floating in the air facing each other really _mean._ You taught to some of them, but you are not really worried about maintaining a straight face as the same set of thoughts crowds their minds: _did I ever know him?_ The answer, dear children, is no.

Travers did his homework, after all. He is a decent Auror, short-sighted, a soldier, like most of them. But efficient in his research. You must concede him at least that. You also know that this – this notion, this invaluable information – won’t leave this room. You know that the Ministry wouldn’t just allow a security leak, nobody on the inside could ever deem wise to blabber around your connection with the biggest threat of your time. You are too powerful, too needed. Even in your stubborn exile at Hogwarts, even in your apparent dislike for politics–

( _That is a lie as big as a mountain, Albus, you simply_ a d o r e _politics, you puppet master_.)

Even if your answer is, has been, maybe will always be

_I cannot_

when Travers asks you to fight Gellert Grindelwald _._ He is irritated, he doesn’t like you, it pains him to recognise your greatness, but he doesn’t really believe you could ever be on Grindelwald’s side. He thinks he knows you – like McClaggan and the other children, like these Aurors here, to whom you taught until yesterday: you are the Professor of two of his daughters; you are nothing but a pure, fair, unbiased Gryffindor in his eyes. He doesn’t want you to interfere with the Ministry affairs, yes, he knows you don’t approve of their course of action, yes, but he doesn’t believe you could ever be Grindelwald’s acolyte, his spy, his partner in crime.

How wrong he is.

_Poor Travers_ , you want to say, _how little you really know. Do you really think that a couple of smoke-children– do you really think that a_ brotherhood _can be enough to explain what it meant to be young and have dreams, big dreams._ Poor Travers, he doesn’t know what it means to look into Gellert Grindelwald’s mismatched eyes and see impossibility come true. He doesn’t know what it means to listen to him for hours, his head in your lap, your eyes on the night sky, and share his beliefs. He doesn’t know what it means to lean your forehead against his and feel powerful – the most powerful ~~wizard~~ man in the world – and _understood_ , as Gellert’s breath trembles and his mouth opens and closes as to grasp for air because you are penetrating deep in his thoughts, your hands on his elbows as you explore the depths of his mind, the greatness of his plan, the cleverness and passion of his ideals.

You experienced Gellert in every way it is possible to experience a person.

If Travers knew, he wouldn’t just take the chair of Defence Against the Dark Arts from you, he wouldn’t just shackle your wrists with silly Admonitors to control your every spell, he would throw you in a cell to rot, chained and pray of the Dementors, his face a mask of horror.

_Oh, we were closer than brothers_ , you just say. All the pain, all the regret, all the nostalgia, they burden your words but there, hidden among the letters, just a glimpse in your cerulean eyes, there is also a shameful sense of _pride_.

_I knew him better than he knew himself_ , you want to scream. You know it’s true. You don’t doubt it for a second, you never did. You knew him inside out, you knew the most decayed, the most rotten parts of his soul – they were the same as yours, they were the same as anyone’s but who is brave enough to admit it?

You just didn’t want to see. You wanted to be blind and deaf and mute.

_I loved him anyway._ It’s your pride and your shame. _I could have been at his side and then there wouldn’t be anyone you could appeal to, my intrepid, arrogant Head of Magical Law Enforcement_.

You are not that person anymore. At least part of you isn’t. You were blind and then you saw, you were deaf and then you heard, you were mute and then you spoke. And it happened in the blink of an eye – in the split second in which a body impacts on a floor.

And you know, now, he must be stopped.

But the thing is you also remember what it means to be seventeen, that passion, that recklessness, that inebriating feeling of omnipotence. _We can be rulers, we can be gods_. It’s your torment and your delight. You remember what it means to give everything and receive everything, to give all of you to someone else. You remember what it means to surrender yourself mind, body, blood and soul to one single person. To trust them with this immense power.

You felt everything. You experienced all of him.

You gave everything. You let him take your soul.

You lost everything. You packed your heart in ice.

 

_I cannot move against him._


End file.
